


How to Court Your Inquisitor

by BreLakor



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abelas has no idea what he's doing, Ancient elf courting rituals, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Iron Bull giving relationship advice, Nudity, Oral Sex, Well of Sorrows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreLakor/pseuds/BreLakor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Abelas/Lavellan prompts (mostly from tumblr) so far including:</p><p>- Abelas trying to court Lavellan with ancient elven courting rituals, Lavellan doesn't understand. Abelas asks Bull for relationship advice. Following said advice proves beneficial to Abelas.<br/>- Abelas inspired version of Solas' third romance scene (WITHOUT Abelas dumping Lavellan like Solas does.)<br/>- A bonding/soulmate idea</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from spyke1985 (http://spyke1985.tumblr.com/) 
> 
> "Abelas is attracted to Lavellan but doesn't know the modern ways to show it, and his attempts thus far have not produced fruit, despite her mutual interest. She just doesn't get what he's trying to communicate. He ends up having to ask someone discretely (you pick who and what the answer is), and trying that way. Success? No success? You pick."

“You are looking especially morose today.”

 

Abelas quite supposed he did. How many months had he been spending trying to show his affections for Lavellan, only to be shut down every time? He was almost done with it all. He _would_ have been done with it all if he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, somehow, she did return his interest. But there were only so many failed attempts at courting her that he could sustain before he inevitably wound up drowning his sorrows in alcohol, as he was doing at the moment. The qunari beside him wasn’t an entirely unpleasant companion, even if his breath reeked like an affront to his nostrils; the man was at least trying to cheer him up.

 

First it had been the grains wrapped up in elfroot leaves. It was the most common of elven traditions, to leave such a parcel on the object of your desire’s plate at breakfast. Inside, lying on the bed of grains, was a rose petal. The idea behind it was that Lavellan would open it, spot the rose petal and identify that someone at her banquet table vied for her affections. Her reaction, instead, had been to stare at it and then, rather loudly, demand what in the Fade it was doing on her plate and where her breakfast was. Lavellan was evidently not a morning person, either.

 

Second he had tried the tradition of whistling to show one’s interest. Abelas worked out her habits of taking evening strolls through the gardens and, one evening, he waited for her high up in one of the trees. As she passed by, he whistled a lilting tune that mimicked the call of a songbird. He almost thought he’d succeeded because she paused and glanced around, confused as to where the noise was coming from. And so he repeated the melody, his hope rising that his affections where becoming clear. When she reached down to the ground, clasped her fingers around a rock, and threw it in his direction, he reconsidered. It hit him in the head and he yelled, albeit muffled, but she didn’t notice. Instead, Lavellan huffed and called for one of her gardeners, exclaiming, “I think there are birds in the gardens again. Would get rid of them? I don’t want them eating my herbs.”

 

Third he tried to send goats to her clan as a demonstration of a dowry and his wish to court her. That ended in failure the moment he asked, however offhandedly, where he might find her clan, because she burst into tears and told him that they were all dead. He felt guilty for a week.

 

His fourth and final attempt had been the halla in her bedroom. It had taken an obscene amount of effort, and he still needed to thank Cole for his help, but with copious amounts of carrots, they’d managed to persuade the beast up the stairs to Lavellan’s quarters. There, Abelas tied the halla to her bedpost and hid for hours awaiting her return. When she did turn up, Lavellan simply gaped at the beast for a long moment, and then yelled for her ambassador, demanding in no polite words, “Why the fuck is there a halla crapping everywhere in my bedroom?”

 

He’d given up after that. The gift of a halla, it was the most extreme of courtship rituals the ancient elves had had. If the one you were interested in did not respond to that, then there was no hope for you. Which was ultimately why Abelas found himself in the tavern that afternoon, stewing over a mug of alcohol beside Bull.

 

“Cheer up, Grumpy,” the qunari teased and pushed the elf’s shoulder playfully. “What’s got you so unusually depressed today?”

 

Abelas sighed long and mournful. From the edge of his hood, he glanced at Bull and replied, “The Inquisitor, I thought she was... partial to me. Evidently she is not.”

 

The qunari laughed so loudly, and for so many minutes, that Abelas frowned at him in honest confusion. Eventually Bull composed himself and chuckled, “Is this a joke?”

 

“I do not joke.”

 

“Of course you don’t.” Bull shook his head and took a long swig of his drink. “You really don’t realise Lavellan’s itching to get into your pants?” When Abelas simply stared at him he continued. “You don’t notice how she stares at your thighs – and they are impressive by the way – or how often she goes out of her way to speak with you?”

 

The elf continued to stare dumbly. These strange people and their idea of courtship confused him. It did not make the slightest lick of sense.

 

“Shit, you’re hopeless.” Bull set down his mug, grabbed Abelas by both his shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “This is what you do. You go to her room, strip off your ridiculously tight armour, lay yourself down on her bed, naked, and wait for her to find you.”

 

“And... this will inform her of my interest in courting her?” Abelas asked carefully. It seemed bizarre to him, but if the qunari was certain...

 

“Trust me, Grumpy, if this doesn’t end up with you balls deep in her by the end of the night, I will personally fuck you myself.” Abelas blanched at the idea as Bull added with a laugh, “Sure as anything everyone knows you could do with a good screw.”

 

The elf decided he would try it at least. He didn’t really have any other option, and as much as he appreciated Bull’s help, he wasn’t partial to the offer of bedding the qunari.

 

\---

 

Abelas did as Bull suggested. He peeled off his (ridiculously tight) armour and clothes, settled himself upon the silky sheets of Lavellan’s bed and waited, patiently, for some time. After an hour he became restless and found himself twisting around to try and determine what position she might deem most attractive. He tried several before settling on propping himself up on his side, with his entire bare front on display. A while longer he waited and it begun to waver his confidence, and then finally the sound of her feet padding up the stairs graced his ears.

 

Moments later Lavellan reached her quarters and grinded to an almost comedic halt. She gaped at him not unlike as if she were trying to imitate a fish. Then, her features twisted between confusion, lust, then back to confusion, then back to lust, and finally settled on an awkward amalgamation of both emotions.

 

“You’re on my bed,” she blurted out. Eyes trailed over every curve of his muscles as she spoke, mapping them and then eventually settling on his flaccid length between his legs and the red bow he’d tied around it at Bull’s suggestion. They hesitated for a moment there, and then wrenched very quickly back to his features. Abelas now suspected the ribbon was a silly idea. “You’re on my bed naked.”

 

“I am,” he replied simply. Why she insisted on posing it like a question was beyond him, was it not obvious to her that he was splayed nude for her?

 

“ _Why_?”

 

“It was the Iron Bull’s idea.” As he spoke, his gaze trailed over her features and the corners of his lips made the faintest, smallest attempts at twitching into a smile. “He suggested it as a courtship ritual.”

 

“Oh.” Her eyes, such a brilliant shade of green, narrowed at him. “Are you trying to court me, Abelas?”

 

“I have been for some time.” He noticed then that her window was open. The cool draft that wafted into the room was making him shiver. Perhaps this had not been the wisest decision.

 

“I’m guessing the halla was your doing, then?”

 

With a trickle of magic from his fingertips he pushed the window shut. Even if he trained and built his body for strength and agility he still commanded as much power as half the mages in Skyhold simply because he was ancient elven. Flashy displays of magic had never been to his taste however, such things were far better left to the sorts of someone like Fen’Harel who twisted spells like water coursing through a river. Abelas did not have something to prove like the rebel god did, and far less had the tendency to worm his way into bed with every attractive woman he came across like Fen’Harel was want to do.

 

“It was,” Abelas replied eventually. “Amongst other things.”

 

Lavellan’s fine blonde eyebrows furrowed for a moment. “The whistling was you too?” When he nodded, she grimaced and he scoffed at the expression. It did not suite to mar her pretty features with such a look. “Sorry about the rock.”

 

“It only broke the skin a fraction, I was able to heal it easily.”

 

His comment didn’t seem to put her at any more ease. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned the blood. Silently, he cursed his complete inability to show his interest in women. It wasn’t as if he’d had many lovers in the ancient times, but even the unions he had had only occurred because the other woman was forward enough to overcome his awkwardness.

 

“So... you’re courting me...” Lavellan stammered. “Well, this is weird.”

 

She crushed his hopes in one fell swoop with that comment. Pushing himself up he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and contemplated reaching for his clothes, and then realised he couldn’t quite remember where he’d hidden them. The idea of making a nude streak through Skyhold didn’t particularly appeal to him.

 

“If you are not interested then I will leave-”

 

“What?” she blurted with a quick shake of her head. “Oh no. No no no. You’re not going anywhere.”

 

“Uh,” he started incoherently.

 

“I’ve just worked out my pining for you isn’t one sided,” she started as she advanced on him. He swallowed thickly at the grin tugging at her lips. “You’re not going anywhere. Especially not while you’re sitting naked on my bed like that.”

 

And then she was cupping his face with her soft, slender hands, ducking towards him and pressing a kiss to his lips. For a moment he paused, hesitated even, but desire got the better of him and he was returning it in moments. Lips parted to her prying tongue, his hands resting against her thighs as he opened to her. The feel of her fingers digging into the shaved parts of his head made him moan, gently, into her mouth and before he knew it he was falling onto his back and she was straddling him against the sheets.

 

Yet she refused to part their kiss as she laved and curled her tongue hungrily. It drove him heady with lust in moments. How long had it been, he wondered, and he realised the answer was too damn long. When she broke away he leant up, followed her and sucked at her lower lip for the briefest of moments before catching her gaze. Her fingers trailed along the pointed shell of his ear, tracing the gold and silver piercings that laid there as her lips tugged into a smirk.

 

“I didn’t know you had these under your hood,” she murmured and his eyes trained on her lips as she spoke, followed every curve and movement of them and wished they would press against his once more rather than spill useless words. “Or the hair,” she added as she noted the pale braid of locks that ran between where the sides of his head where shaved shear against his skin.

 

“Or _that_ under your armour,” she noted. Her eyes were trailing down his naked body, catching on every curve of his tattoos that framed his neck, chest and thighs. Devotions to Mythal they might have been, but when she stared at them and followed the way they dipped over his hips and lost themselves into fine, delicate tendrils at his pelvis, they took on a much different meaning. “How do you even get out of that armour by the way? It’s so skin tight.”

 

“The same way you get out of yours I’d imagine,” he replied with his fingers running idle circles on her thighs. “Contrary to popular belief I am not vacuum sealed into it.”

 

When she laughed he found himself grinning and he couldn’t, in truth, remember the last time he’d done such a thing. Fitting that she would be the one to make him smile again given it was Lavellan’s bright, shining personality that was finally starting to force cracks into his mournful demeanour.  


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from the lovely theblackdash (http://archiveofourown.org/users/theblackdash or http://the-blackdash.tumblr.com/) 
> 
> "Abelas' thighs are his secret erogenous zone! Lavellan finds out and what is she going to do with this knowledge?"

“You know this place is actually quite nice,” Lavellan started as he led her through the temple’s halls. “I don’t think I got the chance to appreciate it before when Corypheus was trying to kill me.”

 

It was no fleeting half hearted reason that he brought her back here. It was a purposeful, calculated decision and one that Abelas had been planning for weeks, if not months. For some time now he had been in a tentative relationship with Lavellan and he’d been trying so hard to find a way to tell her what she meant to him. What he wanted to say was that, for all the years he’d spent guarding Mythal’s temple loyally and devoted, he’d never once found a purpose beyond the halls he was sworn to protect.

 

And now at her side, suddenly he did. She’d changed so much, given him reason to care about anything in this world where before he’d locked himself away and festered as the centuries warred on. Yet every time he’d tried to put into words how much it meant to him to have joined Lavellan’s Inquisition, far more that he might even be allowed to care for her, his voice failed him.

 

For these reasons he brought her to the Mythal’s temple so that his actions might help where his speech failed him. “It is,” he acknowledged.

 

To be here again after what had happened the last time he graced these halls was... odd. Now they were deserted, the remains of the other sentinels disappeared or slain and the walls crumbling. Where before they had tended to the temple dutifully, now it had begun to weather to the pressure of ages gone by. Roots cracked and broke through the floors and vines draped and hung from the ceiling. Perhaps the wilds would reclaim the land as its own in time; it would not have been an unfitting end.

 

“But why bring me here?” Lavellan asked as he led her towards the main chamber. Sidelong he glanced at her as they walked, the smallest, faintest of twitches gracing the corner of his lips as he drew in the sight of her. Never did she fail to make his heart flutter with affection, so hard he had fallen for her it was almost embarrassing.

 

“Because it is dear to me,” he replied and as the soles of his feet met the cool marble of the steps to the Well of Sorrows, he paused. “Much the same as you have become.”

 

The smile that tugged at her lips almost made him want to return it. Yet he didn’t, even as her hand curled and trailed over his cheek for unabashed displays of happiness had never come naturally to him. He pressed into her touch, cupped her fingers with his own gloved palm and how much he wished in that moment that the leather wasn’t separating him from feeling her soft skin.

 

“If you’re going to tell me how beautiful I am, you could have done that at Skyhold,” she offered.

 

He actually laughed ever so softly and it drew a bright flash of joy across her features. “You _know_ you are beautiful, and I will not feed your ego. It is far large enough as it is.” The petulant pout and scoffing noise that slipped from her lips made him roll his deep yellow eyes as he added, “I brought you here to tell you this.”

 

Leaning forward, he allowed his lips to brush against her ear and whispered a string of elven words he’d practiced so many times over. He confessed to her how he loved her with everything he had to give, how she was his heart and his everything. And when he finished, he pulled back and gazed into her eyes. She smiled and pushed her forehead against his.

 

“Is that a fancy, ancient elven way of saying I love you?” she half teased.

 

“It is far more than that but... if you need to reduce it to such a simple phrase, then yes.”

 

“Sometimes simple works best.” She pushed a fleeting kiss to his lips but stepped back and ran a finger up the front of his armour. “So now we’ve come to that revelation, can I convince you out of this?”

 

“Perhaps, but-” the words died in his throat when she grabbed his hands and pulled him up the steps and towards the well. “Lavellan?”

 

He very near tripped but caught himself just in time and then, when his toes were curling over the edge of the empty well, she turned to face him. Where she stood inside the Vir’abelasan she had to grab him by the front of his armour and pull him down to meet her lips. He followed and obeyed her insistence to kiss him, the fabric of his hood shadowing her but when she tried to pry his mouth open he hesitated and pulled back. With a frown tugging at her blonde eyebrows, Lavellan tilted her head at him.

 

“We are in a temple,” he murmured even as his eyes trailed over her soft lips and wished that they would press against him again. “One that I have spent no small part of my life guarding.”

 

 For a moment she chewed on her lip and her vision became clouded and vague as if she wasn’t really there. “I don’t think Mythal minds,” she said eventually. “Actually I think she wants you to loosen up for a change.”

 

His features twisted to a flat, unimpressed stare. “You did not just use your connection to the Vir’abelasan to ask Mythal for permission to bed me here,” he deadpanned.

 

The grin painting her lips told him she very much had done so. He stared at her for a long moment before adding, “Centuries of knowledge poured and collected and you use it for... something like _that_.”

 

“I used it for other things as well!” she protested. “I used it to save the world.” When he refused to stop giving her his judgemental, disapproving stare, she added in a huff, “Stop being grumpy.”

 

“It is what I do best, or at least that is what you insist on telling me.”

 

“Oh, just sit already.” She clamped her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down until he perched on the edge of the well.

 

With his familiarly morose look, he stared up at her but the look melted as she leant in and kissed him. This time when she ran her tongue over his lips, he caved and obliged her insistence. With long, graceful fingers he rested his hands on her hips and angled into the kiss, a soft sigh drowning in her hot mouth. She bit her teeth at his lower lip and then laved her tongue and sucked where she grazed him. Her affections moved to the corner of his mouth, trailing to his ear as she pulled down his hood. Tugging on his earrings, she brought them between her lips and ran her tongue up the shell of his ear until she brought a soft sigh from his lips and made his fingers dig into the leather of her armour, begging for purchase.

 

And then she was fumbling at the clasps of his chestpiece, clattering it to the stone floor noisily and uncaring as she scrambled to work him out of his leathers. It wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination the first time they’d been intimate, but it was the first time she’d needed to coax him out of his armour where before he’d always worn casual robes. She was having trouble, evidently, because she cursed loudly and stepped back with an irritated frown.

 

“How do I get you out of this?” she huffed and the bindings on his leathers were mangled and messed from her unsuccessful attempts to undo them. “I swear you’re vacuum sealed into that armour.”

 

“Why does everyone think that?” he muttered but he obliged undoing and shrugging out of the offending leathers for her. He tugged them over his head, cast them aside and felt the cool rush of air against his skin as she eased off his leggings.

 

“Lavellan,” he started but it cut off in a strangled hiss when she palmed his growing erection.

 

“What?” Her eyes flashed innocently at him even as she spread his legs and knelt before him in the well. It was ludicrously obscene that she’d convinced him to do this here, and yet he didn’t even move to stop her when she traced her fingers over the curved tattoos that ran over his chest and torso.

 

“Are these compulsory for those in service to Mythal?” she wondered as she tugged off his undergarments and followed the markings that splayed over his hips. “Or do you have them by choice?”

 

“It is by choice.”

 

“So it was your idea to get... _this_?” She emphasised her point by trailing her fingers over the lines that curled over his pelvis and only ended at the base of his length which by now was thick and weeping for her touch.

 

“I was... young at the time,” he admitted and the confession forced a flush of heat to his cheeks.

 

“I see.” Her eyes flickered up and met his, and then, purposefully and practiced, she dragged her tongue up the underside of his length.

 

With her hot, wet mouth she kissed and sucked him until she had him begging for her with one hand curled in her sun-bleached hair. She flicked her tongue over his tip, caught his eye contact and stared at him, pointedly, as she hollowed her cheeks and tore a moan from his throat. And then, just as he felt the growing knot of pleasure coil and beg for release, she slipped him from her mouth and pressed against the soft, tender skin of the inside of his thighs. It still felt obscene that he was doing this here, of all places, with her knelt in the well so help him, but when she held him in her palm and grazed her teeth over his skin she ruined him.

 

As a throaty groan tore from his lips he spilled himself into her hand. Elven phrases, barely coherent or logical, fell from him in his rapture and he didn’t even think to care how much he might just have defiled what once was a sacred place. And even if he had wondered it wouldn’t have helped him at all while he had Lavellan smirking at him and ensuring him Mythal was quite fine with it.

 

Then, when his panting subsided and with his body coated in a sheen of sweat, his lover swung one of her legs over his. She pressed down against the thick, flexing muscles of his thigh and she actually ground against him, rode and pleasured herself even through the leather of her armour. The sight of it made his breath hitch in his throat, words failing him at the shamelessness of her actions that the only thing he could contemplate doing was grabbing her by the shoulders and pressing down against the stone marble of the well.

 

“You are a terrible influence,” he whispered and she grinned in response, traced her hands over the muscles on his chest and shoulders without even trying to hide the lust in her eyes.

 

“And you have _really_ nice thighs,” she offered in return.

 

Her teasing and cajoling for months was beginning to rub off on him, because in any other circumstance he wouldn’t have obliged her wants so openly by pressing his leg between hers and rubbing, shamelessly, against her sex. The pleased sigh it brought him only made him tug and pull at her armour, desperate to feel her skin beneath him and part her wet folds with his tongue and return the favour.

 

Even here, spread against the cool stone of the damn well itself he would indulge her. His mind screamed that it was wrong, that he couldn’t possibly commit a more sacrilegious act shy of killing Mythal himself, but his heart and lust longed for Lavellan more than he’d ever remembered experiencing in the age upon ages that he’d lived.

 

Perhaps she’d cast a spell on him and that was the only logical explanation for his infatuation with her and even if it was, he realised, somehow he couldn’t really care. She’d changed him since he’d joined the Inquisition and it was far for the better. Where before he’d lacked purpose and direction and only had his duty, now he had a cause worth something beyond the walls of a temple.

 

And more than that, he had her love.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from: http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/

It was in the gardens where it happened.

 

In a secluded corner, with light streaking through leaves herested with his back pressed against a tree, and her against him. Golden and bleached by the sun, her soft hair tickled his skin and her curled locks were threaded with flowers. With his hood fallen around his shoulders and the gentle breeze tugging at his own pale hair, Abelas had been content to daydream for hours upon end.

 

In Skyhold, he could waste away years in thought. Like whispers of ancient magic, he could lose himself in the memories and remnants of the past and forget, for a time, the strange world he’d woken up in. Lavellan truly did not know how deep the magic stretched within her fortress. It permeated through every stone and brick, fused within the very structure of her stronghold. One day, he might have shown her.

 

With the warmth of her back pressed against his chest and her skin soft and gentle under his idle caresses, his connection with Skyhold’s magic was wavered, for a moment, by the feeling of her tapping into the power of the Well as she lay in his arms. Like a quiver across his mind, he felt every time she delved into the memories and knowledge that had been granted to her. What she looked for and sought, he could not know, but in the time he’d grown close to her over the last months, he realised that she used the knowledge of the Well for the benefit of the people.

 

She wanted to learn and understand the ancient ways, and bring whatever small sliver of culture back to the elven that she could. And he admired her for it, to see that the Well’s knowledge was put to some good use, even if it would take her decades to sift through the weight of the ages that she’d been granted access to.

 

But minutes after he’d felt her tap into the magic, so too did he feel her pull away from it. Shifting in his embrace, she turned to kneel beside him, leaning back against her heels and her bright green eyes catching the sunlight as she smiled at him. He frowned, parted his lips to speak but she beat him to it, her lilting voice flooding him with apprehension for the words it brought with it.

 

“Mythal’s followers used to bond with each other.” Her eyes lit up as she spoke, reaching for his hands but he pulled from her, hesitant and frowning at what she’d seen in the Well’s knowledge.

What she spoke of was true, if a vast understatement. Those in Mythal’s service had once bonded with their partners. It was a connection that transcended love and even time itself, a melding of spirits and twisting of the very ties of one’s soul with another. It was irreversible and eternal, above the beyond itself. And he’d never participated in it because he’d never had anyone that meant anything to him beyond his duty as a sentinel until he met Lavellan.

 

The moment she asked if he would bond with her, he stared long and silent at her, his brow furrowed.

 

“You do not know what you ask,” he replied eventually, and his voice was barely more than a whisper. “That kind of bond, it-” A pause for the way her features twisted into confusion as he added, softly, “It cannot be broken.”

 

“I love you,” she offered and he pursed his lips together and reached for her hands, twisting his fingers in hers as he tried to explain to her what she didn’t understand.

 

“It is more than love; you would be bound to me past this world and into the next.” Deep yellow eyes glanced down, narrowing to betray his hesitation. “Every of my emotions, every pain and joy – you would feel it as your own, and I yours. If one of us would pass into the beyond, the other would follow or else lose themselves to the madness of a severed spirit.”

 

“And… you don’t want that,” she finished softly and he was gazing at her in seconds with a shake of his head.

 

“It is not that, it is-” A sigh spilled from his lips. “It is not something that should be taken lightly.”

 

She graced him with no words in reply. She didn’t need to. Bowing forward and pressing her forehead against his, she made her wants clear as she linked her fingers in his and gazed into his eyes.

 

It was little more than a whisper, but he offered it to her as a final chance for her to pull back from what would be an irreversible commitment. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

 

Her quiet affirmation flooded him with far more joy than she would have realised from his hard, unwavering features.

 

And so it was in the gardens that afternoon that it was done.

 

With a flow of magic into her hands he reached into the borders of her consciousness, opened his spirit to hers and bound himself to her for what would be eternity. Every thought and emotion he felt as if hers were his own, and her soul was opened to him like a blinding light that he would feel across nations and empires. Yet all she did was grin at him when her eyes opened and pressed a kiss to his lips.

 

There weren’t words he could offer her that were sufficient to explain his love for her in that moment, and in truth, there never would be. Bonded to him, she felt everything he’d been too hesitant or scared to tell her. And he knew as he felt the flood of adoration she bore for him, that it was right.

 

How much he’d never dreamed he’d find someone to love after Arlathan fell, and yet he had in her.


End file.
